


Another Poetry Battle

by linman



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Limericks, Other, Sonnet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linman/pseuds/linman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the fast courier back from a diplomatic trip to Escobar, Simon and Aral are bored in a meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Poetry Battle

**From Simon Illyan to Count Aral Vorkosigan, timestamp 2248 standard:**

_To the Imperial Security Headquarters, Vorbarr Sultana, Barrayar_

Of all who ever suffered your embrace  
I am the man whose testimony’s clearest:  
All rightly fear your grey and eyeless face  
Except for those who secrets hold the dearest.  
I made your boudoirs new and bright and clean,  
I saw men weep who came within your beckoning,  
I heard them oft times call you byzantine  
(Five hundred sixty-three by my last reckoning).

You won’t begrudge me then if, as I serve you,  
Out of my orbit’s home, my eyes should wander;  
If plate-glass beauty woos, do I deserve you?  
Would dalliance with right angles make me fonder?  
No matter. Yours will be, while I am sleeping,  
The loving coils which hold me in their keeping.

 

What can I say? I was bored.

**From Aral Vorkosigan to Simon Illyan, timestamp 2253 standard:**

So _that’s_ what you were writing, during that last meeting. I knew you weren’t taking notes. Very impressive. I’ve never written anything but dirty limericks in meetings.

I’ll give you a sample, and dare you to keep your countenance while Count Vormoncrief is talking.

A man from the District, by God,  
Tried to interest a girl in his bod.  
Said he, “I’m a grow-er,  
Instead of a show-er,  
I’ve really a fifty-pound cod!”

**From Simon Illyan to Aral Vorkosigan, timestamp 2256 standard:**

My lord, that is appalling. For one thing, the first two rhymes are far too contrived for the payoff at the end. And even after all that, I bet the poor fellow still didn’t get her to bed. A fifty-pound cod, indeed. She probably offered to cook it for him.

Anticipating your challenge, I offer you this:

A captain unused to null-gee  
Took it out for a short wank or three.  
The grav dropped, but his slap  
Hadn’t stayed in his lap,  
And now he’s unable to see.

And thereby hangs a warning, my lord.

**Aral Vorkosigan to Simon Illyan, timestamp 2301 standard:**

Dammit, Simon, now Boriz is glaring at _me_. I should have known better than to try to…palm off something slapdash on you. Let me try to improve….

**—CORRESPONDENCE REDACTED—**

**Simon Illyan to Aral Vorkosigan, timestamp 2332 standard:**

…No. I am revoking Cordelia’s security clearance for this conversation, on the grounds that she will never let me live it down.

**Aral Vorkosigan to Simon Illyan, timestamp 2334 standard:**

You’re probably right. And what’s worse, she’d probably write a better limerick than either of us.


End file.
